“DESPERTA!”
“With regard to the guerillas,” said Doña Perfecta, when they had
finished drinking, “all I will say is--do as your conscience dictates to
you.”
“I know nothing about dictations,” cried Ramos. “I will do whatever the
mistress pleases!”
“I can give you no advice on so important a matter,” answered Doña
Perfecta with the cautiousness and moderation which so well became her.
“This is a very serious business, and I can give you no advice about
it.”
“But your opinion----”
“My opinion is that you should open your eyes and see, that you should
open your ears and hear. Consult your own heart--I will grant that you
have a great heart. Consult that judge, that wise counsellor, and do as
it bids you.”
Caballuco reflected; he meditated as much as a sword can meditate.
“We counted ourselves yesterday in Naharilla Alta,” said Vejarruco,
“and we were thirteen--ready for any little undertaking. But as we were
afraid the mistress might be vexed, we did nothing. It is time now for
the shearing.”
“Don’t mind about the shearing,” said Doña Perfecta. “There will be time
enough for it. It won’t be left undone for that.”
“My two boys quarrelled with each other yesterday,” said Licurgo,
“because one of them wanted to join Francisco Acero and the other
didn’t. ‘Easy, boys, easy,’ I said to them; ‘all in good time. Wait; we
know how to fight here as well as they do anywhere else.’”
“Last night,” said Uncle Paso Largo, “Roque Pelosmalos told me that the
moment Señor Ramos said half a word they would all be ready, with their
arms in their hands. What a pity that the two Burguillos brothers went
to work in the fields in Lugarnoble!”
“Go for them you,” said the mistress quickly. “Señor Lucas, do you
provide Uncle Paso Largo with a horse.”
“And if the mistress tells me to do so, and Señor Ramos agrees,” said
Frasquito Gonzalez, “I will go to Villahorrenda to see if Robustiano,
the forester, and his brother Pedro will also--”
“I think that is a good idea. Robustiano will not venture to come to
Orbajosa, because he owes me a trifle. You can tell him that I forgive
him the six dollars and a half. These poor people who sacrifice
themselves with so little. Is it not so, Señor Don Inocencio?”
“Our good Ramos here tells me,” answered the canon, “that his friends
are displeased with him for his lukewarmness; but that, as soon as they
see that he has decided, they will all put the cartridge-box in their
belts.”
“What, have you decided to take to the roads?” said the mistress. “I
have not advised you to do any such thing, and if you do it, it is of
your own free-will. Neither has Señor Don Inocencio said a word to you
to that effect. But if that is your decision, you have no doubt strong
reasons for coming to it. Tell me, Cristobal, will you have some supper?
Will you take something--speak frankly.”
“As far as my advising Señor Ramos to take the field is concerned,”
said Don Inocencio, looking over his spectacles, “Doña Perfecta is quite
right. I, as an ecclesiastic, could advise nothing of the kind. I know
that some priests do so, and even themselves take up arms; but that
seems to me improper, very improper, and I for one will not follow their
example. I carry my scrupulosity so far as not to say a word to Señor
Ramos about the delicate question of his taking up arms. I know that
Orbajosa desires it; I know that all the inhabitants of this noble city
would bless him for it; I know that deeds are going to be done here
worthy of being recorded in history; but notwithstanding, let me be
allowed to maintain a discreet silence.”
“Very well said,” said Doña Perfecta. “I don’t approve of ecclesiastics
taking any part in such matters. That is the way an enlightened priest
ought to act. Of course we know that on serious and solemn occasions, as
when our country and our faith are in danger, for instance, it is within
the province of an ecclesiastic to incite men to the conflict and even
to take a part in it. Since God himself has taken part in celebrated
battles, under the form of angels and saints, his ministers may very
well do so also. During the wars against the infidels how many bishops
headed the Castilian troops!”
“A great many, and some of them were illustrious warriors. But these
times are not like those señora. It is true that, if we examine the
matter closely, the faith is in greater danger now than it was then.
For what do the troops that occupy our city and the surrounding villages
represent? What do they represent? Are they any thing else but the vile
instruments of which the atheists and Protestants who infest Madrid make
use for their perfidious conquests and the extermination of the faith?
In that centre of corruption, of scandal, of irreligion and unbelief,
a few malignant men, bought by foreign gold, occupy themselves in
destroying in our Spain the deeds of faith. Why, what do you suppose?
They allow us to say mass and you to hear it through the remnant of
consideration, for shame’s sake--but, the day least expected--For my
part, I am tranquil. I am not a man to disturb myself about any worldly
and temporal interest. Doña Perfecta is well aware of that; all who know
me are aware of it. My mind is at rest, and the triumph of the wicked
does not terrify me. I know well that terrible days are in store for us;
that all of us who wear the sacerdotal garb have our lives hanging by
a hair, for Spain, doubt it not, will witness scenes like those of the
French Revolution, in which thousands of pious ecclesiastics perished
in a single day. But I am not troubled. When the hour to kill strikes, I
will present my neck. I have lived long enough. Of what use am I? None,
none!”
“May I be devoured by dogs,” exclaimed Vejarruco, shaking his fist,
which had all the hardness and the strength of a hammer, “if we do not
soon make an end of that thievish rabble!”
“They say that next week they will begin to pull down the cathedral,”
observed Frasquito.
“I suppose they will pull it down with pickaxes and hammers,” said the
canon, smiling. “There are artificers who, without those implements, can
build more rapidly than they can pull down. You all know that, according
to holy tradition, our beautiful chapel of the Sagrario was pulled down
by the Moors in a month, and immediately afterward rebuilt by the angels
in a single night. Let them pull it down; let them pull it down!”
“In Madrid, as the curate of Naharilla told us the other night,” said
Vejarruco, “there are so few churches left standing that some of the
priests say mass in the middle of the street, and as they are beaten and
insulted and spat upon, there are many who don’t wish to say it.”
“Fortunately here, my children,” observed Don Inocencio, “we have not
yet had scenes of that nature. Why? Because they know what kind of
people you are; because they have heard of your ardent piety and your
valor. I don’t envy the first ones who lay hands on our priests and our
religion. Of course it is not necessary to say that, if they are not
stopped in time, they will commit atrocities. Poor Spain, so holy and so
meek and so good! Who would have believed she would ever arrive at such
extremities! But I maintain that impiety will not triumph, no. There are
courageous people still; there are people still like those of old. Am I
not right, Señor Ramos?”
“Yes, señor, that there are,” answered the latter.
“I have a blind faith in the triumph of the law of God. Some one must
stand up in defence of it. If not one, it will be another. The palm of
victory, and with it eternal glory, some one must bear. The wicked will
perish, if not to-day, to-morrow. That which goes against the law of
God will fall irremediably. Let it be in this manner or in that, fall it
must. Neither its sophistries, nor its evasions, nor its artifices will
save it. The hand of God is raised against it and will infallibly
strike it. Let us pity them and desire their repentance. As for you, my
children, do not expect that I shall say a word to you about the step
which you are no doubt going to take. I know that you are good; I know
that your generous determination and the noble end which you have in
view will wash away from you all the stain of the sin of shedding blood.
I know that God will bless you; that your victory, the same as your
death, will exalt you in the eyes of men and in the eyes of God. I know
that you deserve palms and glory and all sorts of honors; but in spite
of this, my children, my lips will not incite you to the combat. They
have never done it, and they will not do it now. Act according to the
impulse of your own noble hearts. If they bid you to remain in your
houses, remain in them; if they bid you to leave them--why, then, leave
them. I will resign myself to be a martyr and to bow my neck to the
executioner, if that vile army remains here. But if a noble and ardent
and pious impulse of the sons of Orbajosa contributes to the great
work of the extirpation of our country’s ills, I shall hold myself the
happiest of men, solely in being your fellow-townsman; and all my
life of study, of penitence, of resignation, will seem to me less
meritorious, less deserving of heaven, than a single one of your heroic
days.”
“Impossible to say more or to say it better!” exclaimed Doña Perfecta,
in a burst of enthusiasm.
Caballuco had leaned forward in his chair and was resting his elbows
on his knees; when the canon ended he took his hand and kissed it with
fervor.
“A better man was never born,” said Uncle Licurgo, wiping, or pretending
to wipe away a tear.
“Long life to the Señor Penitentiary!” cried Frasquito Gonzalez, rising
to his feet and throwing his cap up to the ceiling.
“Silence!” said Doña Perfecta. “Sit down, Frasquito! You are one of
those with whom it is always much cry and little wool.”
“Blessed be God who gave you that eloquent tongue!” exclaimed Cristobal,
inflamed with admiration. “What a pair I have before me! While these two
live what need is there of any one else? All the people in Spain ought
to be like them. But how could that be, when there is nothing in it but
roguery! In Madrid, which is the capital where the law and the mandarins
come from, every thing is robbery and cheating. Poor religion, what a
state they have brought it to! There is nothing to be seen but crimes.
Señor Don Inocencio, Señora Doña Perfecta, by my father’s soul, by the
soul of my grandfather, by the salvation of my own soul, I swear that I
wish to die!”
“To die!”
“That I wish those rascally dogs may kill me, and I say that I wish they
may kill me, because I cannot cut them in quarters. I am very little.”
“Ramos, you are great,” said Doña Perfecta solemnly.
“Great? Great? Very great, as far as my courage is concerned; but have I
fortresses, have I cavalry, have I artillery?”
“That is a thing, Ramos,” said Doña Perfecta, smiling, “about which I
would not concern myself. Has not the enemy what you lack?”
“Yes.”
“Take it from him, then.”
“We will take it from him, yes, señora. When I say that we will take it
from him--”
“My dear Ramos,” exclaimed Don Inocencio, “yours is an enviable
position. To distinguish yourself, to raise yourself above the base
multitude, to put yourself on an equality with the greatest heroes of
the earth, to be able to say that the hand of God guides your hand--oh,
what grandeur and honor! My friend, this is not flattery. What dignity,
what nobleness, what magnanimity! No; men of such a temper cannot die.
The Lord goes with them, and the bullet and the steel of the enemy are
arrested in their course; they do not dare--how should they dare--to
touch them, coming from the musket and the hand of heretics? Dear
Caballuco, seeing you, seeing your bravery and your nobility, there come
to my mind involuntarily the verses of that ballad on the conquest of
the Empire of Trebizond:
“‘Came the valiant Roland
Armed at every point,
On his war-horse mounted,
The gallant Briador;
His good sword Durlindana
Girded to his side,
Couched for the attack his lance,
On his arm his buckler stout,
Through his helmet’s visor
Flashing fire he came;
Quivering like a slender reed
Shaken by the wind his lance,
And all the host united
Defying haughtily.’”
“Very good,” exclaimed Licurgo, clapping his hands. “And I say like Don
Renialdos:
“‘Let none the wrath of Don Renialdos
Dare brave and hope to escape unscathed;
For he who seeks with him a quarrel,
Shall pay so dearly for his rashness
That he, and all his cause who champion,
Shall at my hand or meet destruction
Or chastisement severe shall suffer.’”
“Ramos, you will take some supper, you will eat something; won’t you?”
said the mistress of the house.
“Nothing, nothing;” answered the Centaur. “Or if you give me any thing,
let it be a plate of gunpowder.”
And bursting into a boisterous laugh, he walked up and down the room
several times, attentively observed by every one; then, stopping beside
the group, he looked fixedly at Doña Perfecta and thundered forth these
words:
“I say that there is nothing more to be said. Long live Orbajosa! death
to Madrid!”
And he brought his hand down on the table with such violence that the
floor shook.
“What a valiant spirit!” said Don Inocencio.
“What a fist you have!”
Every one was looking at the table, which had been split in two by the
blow.
Then they looked at the never-enough-to-be-admired Renialdos or
Caballuco. Undoubtedly there was in his handsome countenance, in his
green eyes animated by a strange, feline glow, in his black hair, in his
herculean frame, a certain expression and air of grandeur--a trace, or
rather a memory, of the grand races that dominated the world. But his
general aspect was one of pitiable degeneration, and it was difficult to
discover the noble and heroic filiation in the brutality of the present.
He resembled Don Cayetano’s great men as the mule resembles the horse.